The Mind's Chessboard and the Winter Frost of Cloud Mountain
The intense, fiery orange of the setting sun bathed the peaks of Cloud-Mist Mountain, turning the forest surrounding the ruined hunter's village into a sea of copper and looming shadows. A thick, icy haze began to descend along the mountain slopes, carried by a howling winter wind that swept dry leaves and dust across the wide stone clearing behind the hut. Amidst this tranquil yet highly oppressive atmosphere, the tall, slender figure of Zhuge Qing stood at the edge of the cliff. His sharp eyes pierced through the mist, gazing southward... toward the direction where the great capital of Chang'an lay hidden behind the complex mountain ranges.
In the young strategist's hand, his feather fan waved in a slow, rhythmic motion. Nearby, a few elite guards, dressed in ragged hunter's clothes but moving with lethal efficiency, were hastily saddling the horses and inspecting the supply pouches. The clinking of leather against metal and their hushed, disciplined commands harmonized with the cries of birds returning to their nests.
"The wind from the peaks is growing stronger, Your Highness..." Zhuge Qing murmured softly.
Liu Tian, dressed in coarse hemp yet exuding an undeniable, commanding presence, stepped up to stand beside him. His back was straight, and the gaze he cast into the distance was laden with a heavy, imperial burden.
"The false intel you sent to Han Feng—that 'the Zhao Clan heir is heading south to the capital'—must have reached Lin Guang's ears by now," Liu Tian said, his voice deep and resonant. "How confident are you that a man like Lin Guang will move his pieces exactly as you predicted?"
A faint, calculating smile touched the corners of Zhuge Qing's mouth. "Your Highness... a man like Lin Guang is like a paranoid old fox, terrified of threats from all sides. He will never blindly believe the news that reaches his ears. However, he is also far too cowardly to let even a speck of risk slip through his fingers."
The strategist pointed his fan toward the horizon. "I predict his first move upon receiving the message will not be to send troops scouring this mountain... but to 'tighten the snare.' He will increase the guards at every city gate tenfold, scrutinizing every young man with a physique stronger than an average peasant. In his heart, he is utterly terrified that the 'White Dragon Heir' will slip through and sever his head right in the middle of his own city."
"And that is when he will trap himself in his own paranoia," Liu Tian nodded slowly.
"Precisely, Your Highness," Zhuge Qing turned to meet the Crown Prince's eyes, his gaze reflecting absolute brilliance. "While his entire focus is hyper-fixated on finding a 'mysterious master' approaching from the south, we must blind him further with your open, highly publicized return to the royal palace. The sudden appearance of the Crown Prince will be a blinding light that sears the old fox's eyes, causing him to completely overlook a small, insignificant piece on the board: a caravan of ragged hunters slipping into the city days later."
Just then, 'Ah Lan' and 'Ah Hui,' two trusted court maids disguised as village girls, approached and knelt respectfully beside the two men. "Reporting to Your Highness and the Lord Strategist... the swift horses and rations for the vanguard party are prepared. The Princess urged you to decide quickly before the mountain mist grows so thick we cannot see the path."
Liu Tian looked at the disguised soldiers and maids working diligently, a look of profound satisfaction on his face. "Thank you all... Zhuge Qing, tonight we will speak to Ah Long clearly. I will not leave any lingering doubts for him to shoulder before we part ways."
Zhuge Qing bowed his head in compliance. The fierce mountain wind whipped past them, making their robes flutter wildly. Amidst the shouts of the disguised guards preparing for departure, the epic opening act of a grand, political chess match had perfectly commenced upon this mountain range.
The General's Blood and the Doomsday Broth
The dirt courtyard in front of the log hut felt unusually lively that evening. Three or four of Wei Qing's elite personal guards, now donning rough, itchy hunter's garments, were busily chopping wood and carrying water. Though they tried to blend in as commoners, the solid weight of their footsteps and their backs—straight as drawn longbows—still radiated the faint, undeniable aura of battle-hardened soldiers.
"Hey! Ah Ping! Set that firewood down gently, will you? Do you want Grandfather Zhao to scold us to death?!" Wei Qing barked an order, using the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his hairline. He wasn't just sitting around throwing his weight around as a general; he was currently squatting by a bucket, scooping water over a whetstone for Grandfather Zhao, who was meticulously polishing an ancient, rusted iron broadsword.
"Yes, General—I mean! Yes, Big Brother Wei!" the young soldier flinched, correcting himself with a dry smile before hurriedly carrying the wood to the back of the kitchen.
Not far away, near a smoking earthen stove, Princess Lao Ying stood with her arms crossed, glaring at a medicine pot that had been repurposed for cooking soup. The broth inside was boiling violently, bubbling with an ominous sound. She stared at it with the intense focus of a commander directing a war, while 'Ah Lan' and 'Ah Hui' stood nervously beside her, holding bowls and looking utterly terrified.
"Princess... do you think we added too much salt and herbal roots? The color of the broth is starting to look... strangely dark and sinister," Ah Lan whispered a warning, peeking into the pot with deep dread.
"You know nothing, Ah Lan! This is my own secret recipe! A fusion of Royal Palace cuisine and Cloud Mountain herbs! I guarantee that if Brother Ah Long takes just one bite, the wound on his flank will knit together instantly!" Lao Ying declared proudly. She stirred the broth so aggressively with a wooden paddle that a drop of the dark liquid flew out, landing squarely on the back of Wei Qing's hand nearby.
"Ouch! Princess! Are you trying to cook a healing meal for a patient, or brewing poison to assassinate a general?!" Wei Qing yelped, vigorously shaking his hand. "I caught a glimpse of the color earlier. It probably tastes more like water squeezed from dead vines than actual soup!"
"Dog lips! Who asked for your critique?!" Lao Ying snapped, pointing the wooden paddle accusingly at the young general. Ah Hui had to quickly step in as a human shield to prevent a war. "I'm going to make you taste test it first, Wei Qing!"
Grandfather Zhao, who had been quietly watching the chaos, let out a long sigh and chuckled deeply in his throat. The old man placed the ancient sword down on a bamboo table before turning to the loudmouthed young general beside him. "Do not mind Her Highness, Wei Qing... Speaking of which, you mock others so freely, but how is your father... Wei Bo? I assume he is doing well?"
Upon hearing his father's name, Wei Qing immediately dropped his playful, arrogant demeanor. He set the water dipper down and brought his hands together in a deeply respectful salute. "My father is doing very well, Elder... He often tells me stories of his past heroic deeds. But when the rebellion happened, I was only a year or two old..."
The young general's eyes shimmered with curiosity and profound reverence. "I have always wanted to know, Elder... In the past, just how close and how mighty were your Zhao Clan and my Wei Clan?"
The old man paused, his clouded eyes gazing out at the tall treetops swaying in the wind. His eyes reflected a past that was both gloriously radiant and bitterly tragic. "The Wei Clan and the Zhao Clan... Hmph. If we compare the Liu Dynasty to a Great Tree, your Wei Clan is the deep taproot that keeps it from toppling. And the Zhao Clan... is the Heaven-Piercing Branches that stretch outward to face the roaring storms."
The elite guards working nearby all stopped what they were doing, straining their ears to listen to this living legend with absolute awe.
"Zhao Wen, Ah Long's father, and Wei Bo, your father. They were the ultimate Sword and Shield..." Grandfather Zhao's voice was low and heavy with absolute certainty. "When the White Dragon Vanguard charged forward to break the enemy lines, General Wei stood as the unbreakable iron fortress at our rear... No enemy on earth could shatter that alliance. Not until we were stabbed in the back by our own people."
Grandfather Zhao's words plunged the once-noisy courtyard into a heavy, solemn silence. Lao Ying stopped stirring the pot. She looked at Wei Qing, whose fists were now clenched tightly, trembling with the inherited indignation of the previous generation. She suddenly realized that the mission they were embarking on wasn't just a political struggle for the royal court; it was a crusade to reclaim the honor and blood of their ancestors that had soaked the earth.
"But let it be. That is all in the past..." Grandfather Zhao coughed to break the tension, his eyes drifting toward the earthen pot emitting a very bizarre smell. "Right now... I think I am more worried about Ah Long's stomach than the life and death of the dynasty, Wei Qing."
A roar of laughter erupted from the elite guards and Wei Qing himself, instantly blowing away the heavy tension. What remained was an atmosphere of genuine camaraderie and bonds slowly reknitting themselves, ready to face the dark storms waiting in Chang'an.
A Silent Touch and Shadows in the Eyes
Inside the log hut that night, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the liveliness outside. There was only the soft crackling of firewood in the hearth and the dim, orange glow of the oil lantern washing over the bamboo cot. Zhao Long sat leaning against the wall. The wound on his left flank still throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, but what made him hold his breath intermittently wasn't the pain.
Before him, Ye Nian (Lin Ying), dressed in dull hemp clothes, was kneeling beside the cot. Her slender, delicate hands meticulously used a clean cloth soaked in warm herbal water to dab around his wound with the utmost care. The faint, earthy scent of medicinal herbs mixed with her natural, clean fragrance drifted to the young man's nose, making him feel inexplicably nervous.
Zhao Long secretly observed her side profile. The lantern light accentuated her flawless, peerless features hidden beneath the guise of a hunter girl. Though she wore coarse garments, her mannerisms—the way she picked things up, how she wrung the cloth, even the rhythm of her breathing—were all too soft, elegant, and graceful for her to be a mere daughter of the forest.
"The wound on your shoulder..." Zhao Long broke the silence, his voice slightly hoarse. His gaze shifted to her left shoulder, where dark blood had seeped through the fabric. "You should tend to yourself first. You shouldn't suffer just to take care of a half-dead man like me."
Ye Nian's hands paused for a moment. She looked up to meet his eyes. Her obsidian-black eyes appeared calm, but deep within them, there was a tremor—a myriad of unspoken emotions. She knew all too well that the origin of his wounds and the tears he shed were the direct result of her own father's machinations. The guilt gnawed at her heart so fiercely she barely dared to look him straight in the face.
She averted her gaze, looking only at the bandages in her hands. "My wound is far from my heart... but if yours gets infected, it will delay our journey. Rest now. Do not speak and aggravate your injury."
Though her voice was flat, the touch of her fingertips against his skin trembled ever so slightly. Zhao Long could sense the invisible wall she had built to conceal herself. His instincts told him that this woman harbored a monumental secret... perhaps a secret as massive as the group outside claiming to be royalty.
Yet, strangely... he didn't feel an ounce of suspicion toward her.
Silence settled over them once more. It was not a stifling silence, but one that wove a thin, invisible thread of connection between two strangers. However, that peace was short-lived as the heavy footsteps of multiple people approached the room's door...
An Oath Above Deceit and Truth in the Lantern's Glow
The footsteps entering the room didn't belong to just one person. A group walked in, carrying an aura so imposing that the small hut instantly felt claustrophobic. Liu Tian and Zhuge Qing led the way with serious expressions, followed by Wei Qing—who was currently tossing a piping-hot roasted sweet potato between his hands—and Lao Ying, who walked in pouting, trailed by her maids. They all stopped, surrounding Zhao Long's bamboo cot.
"Strategist Zhuge... I agree with your plan to openly return to the royal palace to divert Lin Guang's attention," Liu Tian spoke in a deep voice, turning to Zhuge Qing. "However, providing escort for the Crown Prince in such an open area... I fear they might spot the deception too easily."
"Please rest easy, Your Highness..." Zhuge Qing waved his fan slowly. "I have prepared a covert route. This plan will force them to hyper-focus entirely on you, causing them to completely neglect the crucial 'piece' sitting on this very cot."
Zhao Long, listening from the bamboo cot, furrowed his brows so tightly they almost touched. His confusion peaked upon hearing these highly exalted titles used repeatedly.
"Hold on!..." Zhao Long blurted out, his voice raspy but firm. "Ever since you people stepped foot in here... all I've heard is Crown Prince... Your Highness... Princess... Tell me the truth. This whole story about being royalty... being the actual Crown Prince... is it true? Or did you just make this up to use a simple hunter like me?"
The room fell dead silent. The only sound was a loud thud as Wei Qing dropped his sweet potato into a basket.
"Aiya! Zhao Long!" Wei Qing cried out, stepping forward. "Are you still doubting us?! I ate, slept, and literally carried you until my shoulders almost dislocated! Does my face look like a swindler playing make-believe?! Look at my sword! Look at my majestic General's aura! I am the peerless General Wei Qing—"
"That is enough, Wei Qing," Liu Tian interrupted, offering a gentle smile. He stepped forward and sat on the edge of the bamboo cot beside Zhao Long. He reached into his robes and pulled out the 'Cloud-Patterned Golden Dragon Jade Token', placing it onto the hunter's calloused palm. "I am Liu Tian, the Crown Prince of the Liu Dynasty. And the young woman you saw turning a soup pot black over there is Lao Ying, my younger sister... We have come here to ask you to be our 'Proxy'—a symbol to help us seek justice for the White Dragon Heir."
Zhao Long jolted as if struck by lightning. A single thought exploded in his mind... The White Dragon Heir?
"You mean... the White Dragon Clan that committed treason against the realm over a decade ago?" Zhao Long asked, his voice shaking, his eyes filled with shock and wariness. "Those people are traitors who drenched the land in blood... Why would royalty like you ask a hunter like me to get involved with the ghosts of rebels?!"
Zhuge Qing stepped forward, his eyes profound and unfathomable. "In this world, history is always written by the victors, Zhao Long... We do not need you to believe that the rebels were good people. What we need is a 'Symbol' to rally the hearts of the people and save the royal court from the true corrupt tyrants. And you... are the only one whose physical prowess and spirit perfectly align with the image of the White Dragon."
Liu Tian looked deeply into Zhao Long's eyes, seeing the confusion and fear hiding within. "Ah Long... I am not forcing you. If you do not wish to step into the inferno of politics, I will not drag you into this suffering. I will leave my men here to secretly protect you and your grandfather, allowing you to live out your days as a hunter... But if you wish to see the truth buried beneath the blood of the ancestors... you must travel with me."
Zhao Long sat in stunned silence for a very long time. He looked at the jade token in his hand, then at the Crown Prince's sincere face. No burning desire for vengeance ignited in his heart, for he truly believed he had absolutely no connection to these rebels. But the unyielding loyalty he felt toward the 'companions' who had saved his life forced him to make a decision.
"I... I don't believe in any of this White Dragon rebel nonsense..." Zhao Long gritted his teeth, forcing himself off the cot and slowly dropping to one knee on the floor. His face went pale from the agony in his side. "But I believe in your eyes. If you say this journey will save the realm, then I, Zhao Long the hunter... offer myself as your shield, until my wounds heal and your mission is complete."
Liu Tian quickly reached out and supported Zhao Long's shoulders. "Thank you, Ah Long... In this hut, there is no Crown Prince. There are only comrades bound by the same destiny."
Wei Qing, who had been holding his breath, let out a massive sigh of relief. "Sigh! Finally, a beautiful conclusion! I was about to eat my sweet potato in protest... Speaking of which, Princess, please stop cooking that black sludge. I'm begging you."
A ripple of soft laughter broke the tension. Zhao Long remained completely unaware of his true identity, perfectly aligning with Zhuge Qing's scheme to prevent vengeance from clouding the boy's judgment... The one-month journey of "recovery" and "transition" was officially about to begin.
Wings Yearning for Freedom and Parting in the Mist
By the crack of dawn the next day, a dense, stark-white mist completely swallowed the clearing in front of the Cloud-Mountain hut, reducing visibility to less than ten paces. A biting wind howled, bringing a damp chill to the earth. Wei Qing's elite guards were hastily securing luggage onto the backs of two sleek warhorses. Ah Ping meticulously checked the reins, while Zhuge Qing, wrapped in a windbreaker, stood waiting in serene silence.
However, the situation unfolding before the strategist was anything but serene.
"No! I absolutely will not go back!" The sharp, unwavering voice of Lao Ying cut through the mist. She stood with her arms crossed tightly, her chin raised in sheer stubbornness, glaring at her older brother with an unyielding gaze.
Behind her, 'Ah Lan' and 'Ah Hui,' the two trusted maids, stood shivering while holding bundles of luggage. They exchanged panicked looks. Ah Lan gently tugged at the Princess's sleeve, whispering with a trembling voice, "Princess... please listen to His Highness. If you push this any further, we will surely be beheaded!"
"Lao Ying! Stop being so selfish!" Liu Tian said, his tone a mix of a scolding and a plea. "You have sneaked out of the palace for far too long. Father and Mother are worried sick; they are practically turning the realm upside down searching for you! How can I possibly face them if I return without you?!"
"That is your problem, Brother!" The troublesome princess turned her head so sharply her wooden hairpin rattled. "The palace is so boring and suffocating! Nothing but endless rules and regulations! I want to stay here... I want to help Brother Zhao Long save the realm! You cannot drag me back to be locked in a golden cage right now!"
"You..." Liu Tian rubbed his temples, shooting a desperate glance at Zhuge Qing for help. But the young strategist smoothly pretended to dust off a horse saddle, expertly taking a few steps back to stay well out of the blast radius of the royal temper tantrum.
Zhao Long, sitting on the bamboo cot outside the hut with Ye Nian beside him adjusting his bandages, watched the royal siblings bicker with an indescribable expression. This was the very first time he had witnessed a supposedly supreme, noble princess throw